And then there was that day, when Mom wouldn’t stop watching the news, and Dad just sat silently in the living room. And I, who was kind of bored, fooled around with time, trying to do what you taught me. And after a few moments, I felt it. It almost slipped between my fingers, nearly invisible, but I knew right away I was holding a chunk of time in my hands. I pulled it closer to me so it wouldn’t escape, and Dad, who couldn’t figure out what I was doing, started yelling at me to stop behaving like a child. Then Mom approached me and said he didn’t mean it, but I knew he did.

From that moment on, I wouldn’t stop catching time, tearing off bigger and bigger chunks of it. I think time didn’t like my stealing from him. I tried explaining to him that he was infinite, and that all I needed was a few small pieces, but he wouldn’t listen. He fought me over every tiny particle. At night the chunks would start acting up, trying to escape from the bottle, but I’d hold the cap down hard, wouldn’t let them get out. I kept filling up the bottle throughout your entire shivah. Everyone was there. Your whole gang came with Roee. Rozner stopped by too, even cried a little. Meital couldn’t make it, but don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll visit eventually, because despite what you may think, I know she always loved you, even when she felt like she was petting a porcupine.

Everyone came to pay their condolences, and I tried to appear mature and serious, but I didn’t actually pay them any attention, I just kept trying to catch time. Even after the shivah. And when I stuffed that last piece in the bottle, I went to your room. The room no one had gone into in over a month. I passed by your guitar, the pile of Pink Floyd records on the floor and the copy of The Lord of the Rings lying on your nightstand, with the bookmark a few pages from the end. I walked up to the board Mom made you for your birthday. I looked at it real close, studying every photo a thousand times. I touched the board, dragged my finger across every photo, comparing them to one another, searching for the right one. Finally I chose the one we took on the beach on your birthday. Everyone was in it. Mom and Dad in the middle, you hugging Meital with one arm, and with your other, slapping me on the back. And we were all doubled over with laughter, because the American with the baseball cap who took the photo didn’t quite understand which button to press.